


Empire, Reborn

by pillowy



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Romance, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-19 14:34:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13125705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pillowy/pseuds/pillowy
Summary: He’s used to rejection by now.As a child, vying for his mother’s attention, always less important than the most recent diplomatic dispute. As a student, surpassing his classmates in every measurable way, yet unable to make friends. As a Jedi Knight in training, waking up to his master turned executioner.So when she takes his hand, he isn’t prepared for it. At all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS FOR STAR WARS EPISODE VIII: THE LAST JEDI

He’s used to rejection by now.

As a child, vying for his mother’s attention, always less important than the most recent diplomatic dispute. As a student, surpassing his classmates in every measurable way, yet unable to make friends. As a Jedi Knight in training, waking up to his master turned executioner.

So when she takes his hand, he isn’t prepared for it. At all.

“Okay?” she asks, after moments have passed and he still hasn’t let go.

He drops her hand as if it burns.

“What now?” she asks, glancing around. Snoke's body still smokes faintly at the cut.

He can spin this, but he needs time. “Let’s go,” he says shortly.

 

***

 

In his brief communication with Hux, he establishes that Supreme Leader Snoke perished in the Rebel attack (true, in a sense) and appointed him successor (delightfully false). He does not mention the girl. On the upside, the attack gives him the space he needs to consider how she will factor into his plans for the First Order. On the downside, he is now stuck on a ship with her bumbling friends and a too-clever droid.

The girl is with the others, talking them down. The failed Stormtrooper had been...less than pleased to see him, despite being freshly rescued from Phasma’s claws. The problem with the Rebellion is its excessively simple moral compass: once a monster, always a monster. Of course, Kylo Ren may well be a monster. At least he’s a decisive one.

The door to the cockpit hisses open.

“Ben,” she says, and it sets his teeth on edge. He flicks some meaningless switches aggressively.

She sits in the co-pilot seat, staring at him intently.

“I see you’ve talked down the mob,” he states dryly, not looking at her. He doesn’t need to; she radiates so much light that he can barely notice anything else.

“So this...ruling thing,” she begins, then trails off, uncomfortable. He looks at her now; he can’t help it. This fiery girl, so certain and decisive, now staring out the window as if she wants space to swallow her.

“Yes?” he asks.

She glares at him. He mutes his amusement.

“You may not approve,” he begins, then immediately thinks better of it. Things will have to be sorted, but there’s no need for her to know. She wouldn’t understand that a series of quick assassinations will be better for everyone, even the victims, for example if the victims are Hux and his masochistic sycophants.

“What won't I approve?” she challenges, and there she is again, radiating anger and determination and so much power, so much power her body can barely contain it. He wants to bask in this power, wants to embrace it because he knew Skywalker (the doddering fool) and he knew Snoke (terrified, pathetic) but her power is raw, unharnessed, and untainted.

“Reform will not be immediate,” he hedges instead, and instantly he can feel her temper flare. “If we want change to last, we must implement it methodically.”

She’s itching to attack, to find fault with the plan, but it’s too vague and she is ultimately a sensible person. “Alright,” she agrees. “What can I do?”


	2. Chapter 2

She turns out to be a better politician than he anticipated. Perhaps because she is so earnest, so clearly _not_ a politician, the Rebels trust her implicitly. A few arrests of notoriously cruel war criminals, a few touching liberations of mistreated animals and doe-eyed child slaves, and all of a sudden the Rebellion is putty in his hands. It helps that Leia (and how does one survive deep space exposure, exactly? He hopes it’s genetic, and also that he’ll never find out) is, in fact, his mother. To the former Rebels, he’s the Prodigal Son returned. To the former First Order, Leia is a pawn.

To Rey, unfortunately, Leia’s a hero. And even more unfortunately, so is he.

“You need to make an appearance with her,” Rey scolds him, freshly returned from a memorial ceremony on Tatooine. She’s still flushed with righteous excitement, regal in her tattered workman’s clothes.

“I’ll consider an appearance if you update your dress,” he barters, though he doesn’t mean it. Her sentimental attachment to her tattered clothing had in fact turned out to be an excellent PR move, reassuring their new allies of her unchanged character. He supposes her rags-to...rags story has a certain mass appeal.

“Have you even spoken to her?” Rey demands. He briefly considers lying, then decides against it. He did not inherit that charm from his father, more’s the pity.

In lieu of an answer, he looks at her blankly. She sighs, collapsing onto his couch, lifting her dirty shoes onto the pristine leather. He glares at her shoes. She smiles back.

Escalation.

He removes his shirt. She looks away. Not for the first time, he wonders how someone who so comfortably slices bodies down can barely look at them. Perhaps it’s his body that she dislikes. He regards it in the mirror critically.

“When you’re done preening,” she snaps. She meets his eyes defiantly, and does not look away.

He smiles at her. “You insist on wearing recycled rags. One of us must maintain appearances.”

She rolls her eyes and rises. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about this,” she warns. “You’re going to talk to your mother, and you’re going to make a public appearance, and I’ll wear a goddamn tiara if that’s what it takes.”

She sweeps from the room with authority. How someone of low birth could have such effortless authority he does not understand. Perhaps she’s like his father that way: sheer force of personality transforming crude edges into regal quirks.

It’s good to know that the removal of clothing still unsettles her. Few things do.

 

***

 

Leia appears on his ship the following week. He thankfully maintains some semblance of authority that he can learn of her unexpected arrival as soon as her ship’s approach is detected. Sadly, given that they are now allied, he cannot reasonably order a military defense.

He can, however, dress for the affair (Rey calls it his “death suit”) and await her in the coldest, darkest conference room.

“Mother,” he says, rising to his feet as she walks in, trailed by a strangely muted Rey.

She stops by the door. He does not move. Perhaps this conversation will not be so painful after all.

“What are you working at?” Leia demands. He glances at Rey. There’s anger in her eyes, and...is that fear?

“A peaceful new order,” he responds smoothly. “I thought you, of all people, would support such an effort.”

She scoffs. “Oh? And what precipitated your sudden warming of the heart?”

Rey’s glaring at the floor now, radiating indignant rage, and suddenly he understands. His mother doesn’t trust him, but she trusts Rey. And isn’t that rich? Her own son, thrown over for some gamblers’ discarded get. Then again, his father wasn’t exactly a paragon of virtue.

“My ‘heart,’ as you know, died at your brother’s hands.”

“That’s not true,” Rey bursts out, and Leia turns to her. “That’s not true. How can you say that? How can you doubt him? He’s your own son.”

“Yes, he is,” Leia replies, “He’s my son. I know him.”

“You don’t,” Rey maintains stubbornly. “You couldn’t stand there, and let him say that, if you knew him. There’s light in him. I can feel it.”

Perhaps Rey feels light in everything because she herself has so much. She cannot help but illuminate everything around her, even the darkest and most bottomless pits.

“Mother,” he says, and he has to be careful, because he’s lost his mother’s trust but he must keep Rey’s. “What you think of my motives is irrelevant. The outcomes are what matter. Do these outcomes not please you?”

Leia lowers her head and seems to shrink before him. When she opens her eyes, her face has aged by decades. “They please me, Ben,” she says quietly. Her voice is brittle.

Rey’s looking at Leia now, pity in her eyes, and he wonders if he’s gone too far. He can’t lose Rey to Leia.

“Then we are settled here. I must,” he falters slightly, “I have work to attend to.” He sweeps from the room.

Of course Leia had to arrive on the ship. Things had been going so well.

 

***

 

He is genuinely, honest-to-god emerging from the fresher when Rey appears at his door not two hours later. She’s in such a state that she doesn’t even notice.

He towels his hair while she paces, stops, opens her mouth, stops, paces. “You,” she begins, glaring somewhere behind his left shoulder.

He wonders what Leia could have said to turn Rey against him so quickly. He’s not sure how to salvage this. Friendship is not his area of expertise.

“You,” she says again. This is not going well.

“Why does Leia hate you so much?” Rey asks.

He eyes her suspiciously. “You mean, aside from my murdering the man she loved? Causing the deaths of her friends?”

Rey glares at him. “Yes.”

He pulls on a shirt, buying time. If only someone would pull an alarm, force an evacuation; anything to get him off the ship.

“They abandoned you,” Rey persists, “To a man who tried to kill you.”

“Skywalker was their friend.”

“And you’re their son!”

He can feel her indignation pressing against his mind. _So much power_ , he wonders, _So much certainty_.

“One does not choose family,” he states. “Look what your parents did.”

He can feel her flinch. A misstep.

“I don’t care what my mother thinks of me,” he tries again, “I care what you think.”

The swell of her emotions is strong, but he cannot read it. It’s in her face, plain to see, but he does not understand. 


	3. Chapter 3

_Kylo?_

He blinks awake. “What’s wrong?”

_L’Thoria paid off the guards_.

He pushes his sheet aside; turns the lights up slightly to match Rey’s. It’s quiet on her ship too.

_Do you ever wear a shirt?_

He smiles. At least she’s in the mood to joke.

“Maybe we should stop meeting like this,” he mumbles. A shirt appears in his hands. He pulls it on. “Did you just get that for me?”

Rey shrugs. _I don’t know. You’re not surprised_.

He is a bit surprised about the shirt, as he’s never heard of anyone who can manipulate objects from galaxies away, but he supposes Rey isn’t aware of that limitation and therefore not subject to it.

“We knew she had money hidden in practically every market, legal and no. We can’t track it all down.”

Rey huffs in frustration. _She’s going to live the rest of her life in luxury. The guards are gone, too. And their families. I don’t know what she could have offered them._

“Everyone has a price.”

_I don’t._

He nods in concession.

_Neither do you._

He tilts his head. “Why do you say that?”

_I wouldn’t work with you if you did_.

A pause. Rey turns up the lights in her room. It’s small and bare. She never takes the diplomatic quarters on ships, and no one else dares to take them either. The housekeeping droids had thrown a fit; he’d had to personally adjust their protocols.

_I hate the idea that she’s going to get away and be fine, after everything she did._

“She’ll be afraid, on the run forever.”

_She still has money._

“Far less than she used to.” He turns up the lights as well, and focuses his gaze on her. “Reparations have been made to the planets she desolated. Many lives are improved. They are far less vulnerable now, with the infrastructure and economic potential she’s abandoned.”

_And that makes it worth it?_

“Worth isn't the question.” He keeps his eyes on hers. She’s angry, but not at him. “The eldest generations, those who experienced childhoods of “liberated” poverty. They were free, for a time. Then, they were not. Now they are again, and their children’s children will have opportunities they could not have imagined. This is an outcome which you helped to effect. As did she, however unintentionally.”

_I wanted her to suffer._ Rey breaks his gaze and looks at the floor. _It’s wrong. But I wanted her to suffer._

“It’s not wrong,” he counters. “And she will suffer.”

She looks back up at him. _Not the way they did. For years and years. I want her to suffer as they did._

 

***

 

He forces himself to wait half an hour after her return before going to her room. “Rey,” he says, and the door opens.

She’s sitting on the foot her bed. She is dirty from travel, her hair greasy and her skin dry. As soon as he sits on the chair opposite, she springs up, radiating tension.

He remains seated and says nothing.

“Is this the darkness in me?” she demands.

“No.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I never do.”

She turns away. “This can't be light.”

He tries to lean back in the chair. It’s too small. He rises.

“Don’t try to dominate me,” she warns.

“I can't help being tall,” he replies.

“Then sit on the bed.”

He perches on the edge, uncomfortable. The mattress sags beneath him. He’s off-center.

“It’s not going to eat you,” she snaps.

He scoots back. “Happy?”

She glares at him. He’s been on the receiving end of many of her glares. This one is new.

“Sit,” he says. “This is a discussion.”

She drops into the chair across. “You must be happy.”

He frowns.

“I’m the dark one now. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“This isn’t about darkness and light.”

“Isn’t it?” she laughs. “What is it, then?”

“For Snoke, yes, this would have been. To the unimaginative, darkness is about suffering and revenge. Light is about sentiment and hypocrisy.”

“Fuck you.” But despite herself, she’s listening. He can work with that.

“What has become of the heroes of the so-called ‘Light’, Rey? Skywalker, a cowardly recluse and failed executioner. Solo, a gambling womanizer and habitual liar. They did not embody the virtues they preached. One must acknowledge that Snoke, for all his detestable qualities, was at the very least honest with himself, and with others.”

“Honest about his worst qualities? Honest in that he didn’t even try to be better?” she asks. “Is that what you want from me? To give in to my worst instincts?”

“I think we gain nothing by denying their existence,” he replies calmly. And he is calm, strangely so, in the presence of her loathing.

“I don't like feeling like this,” she admits, her voice quiet. “Luke would have told me to meditate. But I can’t.”

“Skywalker retreated to an island while his friends fought and died. That is not your way.”

“Finn says it will pass.”

Of course she consulted her ex-Stormtrooper. He feels a slight twinge.

“But I don’t want it to pass. I want revenge.”

“Yes,” he agrees.

“And?” her voice is hard, but her eyes are pleading.

He offers out his hands. She doesn’t hesitate this time: she leans forward and puts her small hands in his. It’s heady, to have such trust. He wonders if she trusts others so freely.

“To deny or condemn your feelings is an exercise of vanity,” he says quietly.

“I thought you were the vain one.”

He smiles. “Maybe I don’t want you infringing on my territory.”

“Do you deny your feelings?”

His hands twitch. “Yes, frequently. But...as I said, it’s a vanity.”

She nods. Her hands are small and relaxed in his.

“What does it mean to you, darkness and light?” she asks.

“We have many threads of motivation.” He squeezes her hands, then withdraws. “Rey, you are full of light, whatever that may be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a lot of philosophizing...sorry! I’m done now! Needed to sort out KR in my headcanon...hope you’re still...with me...


	4. Chapter 4

It’s too bright.

“Lights,” he says, or tries to say, but all that comes out is a croak.

“Kylo.” A figure appears in the periphery. He squints.

A tube presses at his lips. He opens them. The water is cool.

“How are you feeling?”

He closes his eyes. _Like death._

“You were pretty close,” she scolds. A warm hand encloses his. “You need to stop almost dying.”

_Tell that to security._

The tube pulls away from his mouth. He frowns.

“You can’t drink any more right now. You may throw it up.”

_I see. You’re worried about your shirt._

She snorts. “Well, seeing as how you’re not wearing one.”

_Oh, is that why you’re here?_

He can feel her redden. _Stop that._

_But why would I, when it makes you so uncomfortable?_

_I see your pleasant personality remains unaffected._

_I see you’ve switched to a more private form of communication. Shall we take this discussion elsewhere?_

“Can you be serious for one minute?”

There’s more than annoyance in her voice.

“Your security is a problem,” she states flatly.

_I survived._

“We should install a double. Maybe...maybe several. You can go into hiding.”

_Rey._

“We don’t have time for this. These idiots, these fucking _rebels_ , the war is _over_ –” her voice cracks.

_I have many enemies._

She huffs. “You don’t say.”

_We can’t kill them all. There’d be no one left._

That gets a chuckle.

He forces his eyes open. She’s blurry against the light, but clear, so sharp and clear in his mind.

_Rey. I trust you to finish what we’ve started. I have many enemies, but they will never touch you._

He can feel her smiling, which is...unexpected.

_What’s so amusing?_

“Don’t worry, Kylo,” she pats his hand. “I have a plan.”

 

***

 

The “plan,” it turned out, was to literally keep him by her side. She moved into his room (“Yours can barely fit a porg,” he’d sniffed when she complained about having to move _her_ things, which consisted of hardly anything at all); a small bed was brought in (“I wasn’t aware star destroyers came with children’s furniture”) and her ridiculously tiny chair (“You’re just bitter that you’re always hitting your head on things; you’ll probably kill yourself by accident and do the assassins a favor”).

The ridiculously tiny chair in which she now sits, looking pleased with herself, as she scrolls through her (their) upcoming travel schedule. “Oh good, Naboo’s coming up, I always wanted to go there.”

He sighs heavily. “Rey, how can I get anything done from Naboo?”

“You know,” she smiles, “There’s this technology that we have. Where we can communicate. Across galaxies. It’s incredible, you should try it sometime.”

_Why bother when I can reach you directly?_

“Don’t know why we didn’t think of it sooner,” she shakes her head, “Your image needs work.”

“My ‘image’?”

“Your death hat didn’t exactly scream, ‘I’m a friend.’"

“Neither does my person,” he replies, once he figures out what she means by "death hat". But she’s already returned to her work.

The worst part of healing isn’t the pain, it’s the boredom. He can’t exercise, and his thoughts are too muddled to conceive of any new plots. Not that there is much plotting left for him to do, now that the most problematic former First Order officers have been quietly removed.

Under Snoke, he’d mistaken fear for power. He’d planned to teach Rey how to use it. But he recognizes now that the power Rey wields is stronger. People do things for her because they believe in her, want to please her. When she turns her back, they stay with her. (And the rare few that don’t, he nudges. Gently.)

“Admit it,” she says, stretching, “It’ll be good for people to see your face.”

“With yours.”

She smiles. “Afraid I’ll make you look bad?”

He slumps back in his bed, closes his eyes. “I’m afraid I’ll undo your diplomatic efforts.”

He hears her rise from the table. She approaches.

“Hey.”

He cracks an eye open. She’s concerned.

“They’ll love you.”

“I do not inspire love,” he says flatly, “That’s your skill.”

Rey fiddles with her shirt. “People love you.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“They’d love you if they knew you,” she hedges.

He sits up, swinging his feet onto the floor.

“Rey, Saint Skywalker looked into my mind and almost became a murderer because of it,” he chuckles.

She looks down, quiet. “He was wrong.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

She raises her head, eyes shining. “It matters to me. I don’t understand why they can’t see you like I do. Even now –”

She cuts herself off, turns away. He knows, though. He’s surprised at how successfully she’s convinced her friends thus far; he’s had far fewer Rebels removed than he expected (though, granted, far more people than he eliminated for Rey’s safety, but her death count doesn’t hold a candle to his.)

“I know you,” she says, looking him straight in the eye, snapping him back to the present. “And I love you. You know that, right?”

He says nothing. She enters the fresher.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to earn that E rating.

_ The governor’s a problem. _

Rey ignores him. She’s engaged with the king, a battle-worn Zabrak who looks about two steps away from eating her. Or possibly adopting her; it’s hard to tell. 

The governor has placed a coarse hand on Kylo’s arm, which may or may not be a proposition. Human body language is difficult enough, he can’t possibly be expected to learn other species’.  _ Maybe the governor will die in an erotic accident, _ he muses, looking at the meaty hand now gripping him.

Rey does flick her eyes to him this time, but only for a moment.  _ Kylo, stop it. _

He smiles, and the governor misinterprets it. The grip on his arm grows stronger. 

Bells sound, signaling the end of the day. Rey retreats, pulling him from the governor’s grasp and steering him back towards the ship.  _ Do you flirt with every sentient being? _

He grins at her.  _ Only those plotting coups. _

 

***

 

Their quarters (the diplomatic quarters, as he’d insisted) have been tidied in their absence. Rey promptly undoes the droids’ work by plopping on the bed and shoving her shoes into the clean sheets.  _ His _ clean sheets.

She smiles angelically. “You know you get all red when you’re upset?”

He scowls at her, pulling off his boots like a civilized person. 

“The governor,” he begins.

“Yeah,” she sighs, “I know. The king sees him as a son.”

He removes his cloak. 

“What should we do?” she asks. 

“Does that mean you’re open to my erotic asphyxiation plan?”

The cloak flaps, hitting him the face. “Be serious,” she scolds.

He hangs the cloak up neatly and sits on the couch, wincing slightly. His armor’s not exactly comfortable, but it will have to wait.

“Oh, for –” Rey rises from the bed impatiently and pulls him up by the arms. Expertly, she begins unbuckling his breastplate.

“Rey,” he smirks, “If you’re jealous, you need only say the word.”

She bats him on the head before undoing the final clasp. The breastplate falls to the ground.

“Legs,” she orders shortly. He widens his stance. She undoes his leg plates in silence, then rises. 

He looks down, smiling, but the next joke dies on his lips. Her expression is serious.

“I trust you to handle the governor,” she says. 

He freezes. 

“I admire that you can...do that.”

_ Say it _ , he thinks desperately,  _ What is it that I do? _

“Kill people.”

Her eyes are wide, earnest. He knows them, sees himself in them, trusts them more than his own. 

He can’t look at her anymore.

_ What can I say, _ he thinks, staring at the smooth wall behind her. _ Cold-blooded killing. It’s a skill.  _

In the periphery of his vision he sees her arm move upward, and for a wild moment he thinks she’s going to – touch him? – but she’s reaching for his arm, unbuckling the guards. 

“I’d wait for the governor to assassinate the king,” she continues, conversational, working on his armor with steady hands. “And then there’d be a civil war. Many Zabraks would die. I’m too, I don’t know,” she chuckles humorlessly, “Vain to act first. Afraid of feeling guilty. But I know the governor will kill the king.”

The last of his armor falls. He is clothed, thinly, but his skin prickles. 

_ I trust you, Kylo. I trust you to do what I can’t.  _

When he meets her eyes, he tries to step back, but there’s nowhere to go. There’s an expression on her face that he cannot read. She steps back then, and he feels relieved, disappointed. She steps back, and back, until her knees hit the bed. 

They stare at each other. 

She unbuckles her belt.

_ Rey. _

Her tunic is next, pushed from her shoulders, pooling at her feet. She reaches for the hem of her shirt.

“Please don’t,” he croaks, reaching out. 

She pauses. “I thought,” her cheeks redden. She drops her hands. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” he says hurriedly, “No, I want you, I – of course I want you,” he steps forward, stops. “But I – I need you, Rey. I can’t risk losing you.”

She smiles, eyes shining.  _ You won’t.  _

She pulls her shirt up, and off, and he doesn’t see where it lands, because he’s grabbed her neck with one hand and her waist with the other. 

He tumbles her backward onto the bed, pins her. “Do you know,” his voice trembles slightly, “What you’re offering me?”

“I think I understand the situation.”

Her pulse flutters against his palm.

“I need you, Rey,” he repeats. He presses his nose into her hair, inhales her.  _ You don’t need me, but I need you.  _

Her hand reaches up to stroke his cheek.  _ Kylo. I need you too. Now take off your shirt. _

He cannot disobey. When he pulls off his shirt, she flips them. She looks glorious above him, triumphant. He sits up just enough to suck a small, pale breast into his mouth. She shudders against his lap.  _ Kylo.  _

He licks his thumb, plays with one nipple and sucks on the other. 

A hard shove, and he’s splayed back on the bed. She’s standing above him, still wearing her shoes and those ridiculous arm wraps, but stripping off her breeches and her –

He sweeps his legs beneath her, and catches her in his arms. “Hey!”

Gently, he lowers her onto the bed.  _ Rey. Let me.  _

She huffs, frustrated. 

_ Please.  _ He presses a kiss to her collarbone.  _ Please, I want to.  _

She stills, tense. He kisses her collarbone again, and her hip, bared before him. He pulls her shoe into his lap. 

“You and shoes,” she laughs.

“On the bed,” he chides, undoing one and placing it gently on the floor. “On the bed, where I sleep.”

He undoes the other, pulls it off, then her socks, then her breeches, and he stops.  _ You’re so beautiful. _ Her arm wraps loosen, and fly off. 

“Show-off,” she mutters. “I like those.”

He presses her wrists against the bed, kisses the crook of her elbow.  _ I want to see you. _

“Happy?”

He sits up again. She’s spread out on the bed, naked and gorgeous and wondrously alive. He kisses her ankle, her knee, the inside of her thigh.  _ You’re so beautiful.  _

She squirms. “You’re still dressed.”

_ Life’s not fair,  _ he smirks, pushes her legs open, and places his mouth on her. She bucks up, but he’s got one hand pressed on her abdomen and the other on her hip, keeping her in place. He licks at her clitoris, sucks it, and she’s keening beneath him, her legs tensing and stretching and her hands fisting and twitching at her sides, and she tastes incredible. 

Her mind is babbling,  _ Good _ and  _ More _ and  _ Go back to – yes, there, Oh _ –

_ You like this. _

_ Yes _

He flicks her with his tongue, hard.  _ Can I make you come like this?  _

_ I don’t, I don’t know _

_ You’re going to come, _ he thinks forcefully,  _ I’m going to make you come with my mouth and then I’m going to fuck you.  _

_ It’s too much, I don’t know if I can take it _

_ My mouth? My tongue? _

_ Everything, it’s so much _

He pushes his tongue inside her, rubs his thumb on her clitoris.  _ You taste incredible. _

_ Kylo _

_ I’m going to fuck you with my tongue and then I’m going to fuck you with my cock and after I’ve filled you up I’m going to suck my come out of you so I can fill you up again. _

She squirms wildly against him and he clamps his mouth back down on her clitoris, shoving one finger inside her, fucking her with it, and when she comes, she spasms around his finger so brutally that it’s forced out of her, so he puts both hands on her hips and licks and licks until her gasps have become moans, and keeps licking until she begs him to stop. 

He crawls up her body, still shuddering and twitching. He kisses the shell of her ear, the side of her neck, where her pulse flutters, rapid. 

_ Kylo. _

He looks up. Her eyes are open, locked on his, slightly dazed.  _ Kylo, I want you to fuck me.  _

He smiles, bends down again to kiss her.  _ Anytime.  _ He could drown in her bottomless brown eyes. He already has.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! And for humoring the problematic morals. And for not judging my first attempt at smut. XD


End file.
